


Avalanche

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Dean Misses Castiel, Dean in Denial, M/M, Pining Dean, Sad Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is missing, and Dean is missing him so much he's terrified he'll never get to tell him how he feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avalanche

He's sniping. He's sniping at Sam, and he knows he's sniping at Sam, and worst of all, he knows exactly why he's doing it. He knows what's triggered it, like he's known every other time it's happened in the past.

But nothing. Not one part of it. None of this is in any way Sam's fault.

Dean's internal, repetitive monologue lurches between _you're so obvious any fool can see_ and _but it's really all your fault anyway_ and _what if this is it_ , at breakneck speed. He's barely able to function for the continuous stream of words running through his mind, and his lack of concentration has reared its ugly head in an unprecedented number of near misses on the drive today.

Sam isn't oblivious either. Perhaps he's not completely clued in to why Dean's shouting him down at every opportunity, and barking instead of just plain answering, and essentially driving like he's forgotten how. But he knows something is up. How would he not?

Dean's internal arguments continue spiralling around and around his head, enough to make him dizzy.

If he can just acknowledge. If he can just admit...

But of course, he can't get the words out, not even within the relatively safe confines of his own head.

Does this ever get any easier?

Cas has been missing before. He's gone AWOL more times than Dean wants to remember, yet every single time he does remember, with absolute, total clarity. He can recall, down to the very last detail, the circumstances leading up to Cas going. Every word they spoke to one another, especially if Dean had been unkind, plays on repeat like a nightmarish soundtrack to his day and night. He remembers each and every feeling that he had at the time – mostly because he's reliving them all right now, as though every nerve ending is on fire.

He remembers how he fought it, and how he also tried not to fight it sometimes too.

He remembers it all. He should do; he's been torturing himself over Cas for what must be years now.

Because the thing with Cas is. The thing about Cas. See, Cas...

Dean growls at himself, digging his fingernails hard into his palms and biting down on his inner cheek until he can taste blood.

What if he never hears that soft fluttering sound that announces Cas' arrival again? Dean's heart imitates it at the very thought, and he curses himself for it.

What if he never again gets to feel the heat of Cas near him that he strains hard against leaning in to like Cas is his own personal sun?

What if Cas never comes back, never gives Dean the chance to say the things he's been meaning to say, rehearsing and not rehearsing over and over and over until they threaten to spill out of him anyway? Repeating them silently to himself as he is now, without acknowledging the reasons why he's having to have these one-sided conversations in the first place. Because he's too much of a coward to say them out loud.

What if gone really means gone this time? And there is no chance to be brave?

Dean's slammed enough doors and kicked enough curbs today to try even Sam's patience. It's Sam grabbing his arm to shake him out of it - whatever _it_ is - which Dean viciously wrenches away from, that opens up the vault.

He slams the car door, stamps away, takes far too long in the service station toilet to pretend to compose himself. And when he returns to the car, he can't face Sam, and he can't face climbing in, he simply can't face the memory and guilt avalanche that is slamming down on him from all sides.

He's suffocating. And it's all at his own doing.

Dean perches on the hood of the car, his back rigid and turned adamantly away from Sam.

Because of course it's his fault. If he'd just been honest for once. If he'd just told Cas. If he'd just... done something. Maybe he could have stopped him leaving. Maybe he could have changed things. Maybe Cas would have stayed, with him.

Sam gives it all of a minute before Dean hears him swinging the door open and his boots hitting the gravel. The three paces it takes Sam to come up beside him sound loud enough for each step to be another approaching avalanche that assault Dean to trap him with his own worst enemy - himself.

Sam stands, body right-angled to Dean's shoulder as he continues to stare off into the distance. He's perfectly still, and waiting, in that ever patient way only Sam seems to have for the entire world. It's annoying, frustrating, and right now it is in danger of breaking down Dean's carefully and not so carefully constructed walls.

Maybe he's finally going to have to stop running from this thing.

Maybe he's finally going to have to acknowledge the thing that's been both inner glow and consuming flame in him for as long as he dares to remember.

“He's gone,”

Dean's whisper is tortured enough to send pain and shock through them both, with Dean resolutely not looking at Sam at all, even though out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam square his shoulders.

It's too late for Dean. Those words have opened that dam he's been fighting to keep in place for so long.

“He's gone, Sam. He's gone. Again. And we don't know if... I don't know if...”

“Hey. It's Cas, okay? We'll find him. We'll get him back, or he'll get himself back. He always has up to now, Dean.”

“But what if this is the time he doesn't?” Dean's whisper drops lower, so low Sam has to lean forward a little to hear it. And what he hears to accompany the whisper is a rasp in his throat, a soft choking as Dean fights back things he never wanted to let slip out.

“Dean,” Sam tries, as gently as he can.

“He's gone, Sam!” and finally, he does break, in the only way Dean allows himself. Tears leaking down his stoic face that absolutely is not turned to seek comfort. Fists clenching and unclenching at his thigh, occasionally tight enough to bounce off there and leave bruises.

Sam shuffles a little but holds his position. “We'll get him back.”

“But what if-”

“We'll get him back, Dean. You know we will.” Sam's voice grows worried, even though he tries to sound confident. He's clearly confused by Dean's reaction, and that just seems to set Dean off even more.

“You know what the worst part is?” Dean bites out bitterly, wiping an angry, rough hand over his face to snag away tears that just refuse to stop appearing. “What I said to him. Right before he went. I said... I said we didn't need him around, Sam. I said that we didn't... that _I_ didn't...”

Dean's words are overtaken by a rapid gunfire of choked sobs, and now Sam really is startled, hesitatingly reaching out a hand to rest on Dean's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. It doesn't work.

“What if... what if the last thing he ever thinks is that...is that I... that he’s not...” Dean is broken. his eyes wide in horror as he clutches and unclutches at thin air.

“Hey,” Sam tries, punctuating it with a reassuring pat, “We all say things we don't mean, he'll know you didn't mean-”

“But what if he doesn't? What if he doesn't, Sam? What if this time's the time I-” And Dean is lost.

Sam can count the number of times Dean has fully broken down in front of him on one hand, and none of them have been as messy as this. Not once has Dean ever literally turned into his arms, fingers digging tight into his sides, face soaking the shoulder of his shirt as Dean mumbles over and over about missing his chance, about this being the last time, about... so many incoherent things Sam can barely make out.

All Sam can do is try to hold on to Dean whilst he works through whatever it is he's going through.

When the sobs die down and all that's left is a hacking, wrecked gasp, Sam takes a tiny step back to give them both a little room to breathe.

“Dean. I'm missing something, aren't I?”

“He's _gone_ , Sam.”

The agony in Dean’s voice is too much for Sam. It’s like being shredded, inside out. He winces, unsure of what the right thing is to say, or do. “Yeah, I know that Dean. And...not to sound cruel? This isn't exactly the first time.”

Sam stops, swallowing roughly. Should he say it? Would it help?

He looks at Dean, and hard. And then, “You've never reacted like this.”

But immediately after they are out, Sam's own words make him pause for thought.

Perhaps Dean hasn't acted _exactly_ like this, no. But every time Cas has disappeared and been uncontactable, Sam has seen a change in Dean. There's always been tension, and an added snappiness, and Dean disappears himself too. Many times, Sam's heard him pacing like a caged animal, or throwing a ball repeatedly against a wall into the small hours of the morning. In fact when Cas is gone is the only time Dean ever shows any kind of interest in exercise, like he's got nervous energy to burn off.

There's a light of understanding flickering for Sam, but he's not quite there yet.

Of course, Dean has nothing to say to help him with that either.

“Dean... what aren't you telling me?”

To say Dean is not one for words would be a cruel, unnecessary understatement. But for Dean, words aren't even needed for him to be able to bare his soul.

All he has to do is raise his eyes to Sam's, and open them. And it's written as plain as anything there for Sam to see.

This isn't just the fear of friend, or a brother. This is the fear of someone who is terrified they have lost their entire world.

Jigsaw pieces slot into place in a puzzle Sam didn't even know he's been seeing all this time. The looks, which he's teased Dean about himself. The out and out stares. The touching, the lingering, the way they move around each other with an air of inevitability. It's all there, bright as the sun, now that Sam thinks it through.

Dean's eyes register Sam's understanding, and added to the nakedness of his admission there is now a pleading request to understand, to not judge. Which of course, in a million lifetimes, Sam would not. Love finds its way in to you in the most unexpected of ways, as he knows himself, and it is never something you can control.

And that's what this pain is. That's the thing that's driving Dean insane before him. Love.

“I've never told him,” Dean mumbles, broken, defeated, shoulders slumping so far forward that by rights he should roll to the floor.

But Sam holds him up. He needs but a pause to school his thoughts and come up with a response that might do something to help Dean through this. He clears his throat. “He knows, Dean. Of course he knows.” But Dean's stance doesn't change at all.

Sam tries again, softer. “It's not like it's something he doesn't need to say to you either.”

Dean's continuing his staring, this time laced with _are you sure_ and _don't mess with me_ and _please don't just say things to make me feel better_.

Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, ducks a little so they are at perfect eye level. “He _knows_ , Dean. And we'll get him back. And then you'll tell him anyway, okay?"

Sam holds his breath, and waits, never altering his gaze, never removing his hand from Dean's shoulder.

Dean gives the smallest, tiniest of nods.

 


End file.
